Sweden's Duckling
by hellotransparent
Summary: Scandinavia, Sweden 925AD, Viking's need saving sometimes, too.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

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 **We must accept finite disappointment,**

 **but never lose faith in infinite hope.**

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 **Scandinavia, Sweden 925AD**

 **Men** were dying. 781 Years she had wandered the earth; she went to Africa, to America, and from America to England. She made house in the coldest villages on earth and she made house in the hottest, no matter the climate or culture, whether the language differed or the people's skin color changed one thing was always certain; men were dying.

Whether struck by poverty or famine or war, there has always been death. She was told stories of Pharaohs and kings, and of old gods and new gods, she witnessed the fall of rulers and dictators and she witnessed, in the end, their death. She always witnessed death, as everyone around her died. She concluded that everything died eventually, all except her. She watched as the decades and centuries passed her by, doing little if anything at all to chip away at her appearance, but she watched as time took its toll on her friends.

Periods had come and gone, she watched the rise and fall of many an era; now it was the Viking era.

Men were dying, more specifically, Viking's were dying. She watched from beneath the canopy of trees as Viking fought Viking, each clothed in fur and brandished with sword. Some fought as though they had seen the horrors of war before, some as if they held an overgrown knife. The stench of blood filled the air incorporated with burning oak and rust. Yes, this was the time of the Vikings.

Screams filled the air; some for release from their pain while others cries of victory, it would seem one side significantly outweighed the other. She looked around the field again and stopped as her attention was caught by a particular man fighting his way through the crowd of men, only to be stopped every so often as an odd number of enemy soldiers banded together to defeat him, yet as proven of the warriors he had slain before they too fell to their knees as his sword drove through their chest.

He was beautiful.

He glided through the onslaught of men as if it were nothing more than child's play to him, she was enamored by his fighting. She held onto the tree beside her as a way of holding herself back when she saw what happened next, a group of 5 men advanced toward him, teeth bared and swords at the ready. He had just slain the man who he had been combating with and had little time to act as a sword was plunged toward him. He managed to slide away in the nick of time, though not before earning a deep gash to his arm, he didn't scream.

She watched as he fought the men, his movements getting slower as time wore on and his strength began to fade. Then, all too sudden, his back was struck with a long-sword and he fell to his knees. Blood spewed from the gash onto his clothes and down his body, drenching his clothes in the red liquid. A man stood before him and raised his sword to the sky, he plunged it down with all the force he could muster and-

An arrowed whizzed through the air. The man was on his knees.

The blonde haired man snapped his head up upon seeing the bodies of his attackers falling to the ground in heaps, then to the fighting around him and looked on with pride as his men started to, slowly but surely, take over the battle. Then he looked to the woods, searching for the man who had released arrow from string. He saw nothing.

Grabbing his sword from beside him he hoisted himself up on it but let out a howl of pain as he felt blood stream from the gash to his back. The adrenaline slowly wearing off he began to feel the pain emitting from the opening down his shoulder blades. He fell to the ground, unconscious.

When his conscious came to him again it was nightfall. He woke settled on his stomach and a dried, crusty substance on his back. He tried to sit up, but found he had little to no strength within his hands and arms, so he lay there until someone noticed he had awoken.

He didn't wait long when he heard the trudging of boots coming from the trees. When he looked up he recognized the men from the party he had led out to fight the rebel clan, a battle he had soon decided he did not like the outcome of. Though they had won, he was left unable to move come sun down, and he did not like that a bit.

One of his men rushed to him upon seeing his opened eyes and brushed his long hair out of his eyesight. The man muttered something under his breath, thanking the Gods he was awake before looking behind the injured Viking.

"He's awake! Help me get him up!"

Men made to help their leader from the ground, but stopped as a voice sounded through the air telling them not to move him. Eric almost growled, asking- demanding, who it was that commanded his men while in his presence. When he received no answer he realized he had not said this aloud. He tried again, again, again. His words would not sound.

He opened his mouth to speak again yet the only thing that came from his mouth was a scream. Someone was touching his wounds. Small hands, soft hands, were touching his wound, ripping off the mold that covered his back as quick as they could. Then he felt hands run along the semi-opened injury, and his skin involuntarily tingled at the contact. The next thing he felt was a wet sap being applied and a cloth like bandage being placed over it, the sap making it stick to his skin tightly.

His ears moved lightly when the voice sounded again, telling his men to help him sit up. They did so, and placed his back as softly as they could against the large body of a tree. When the blond haired man looked up he saw a small hooded figure standing before him.

He looked the figure from bottom to top, his eyes slowly going over the wooden sandals she wore, to the long exposed length of her legs and the outfit that stopped just above her knees. The material flaring out then tightening around her stomach and covering her prominent cleavage. She wore a long thin material that stretched from over her shoulders right down to the very soil she stood on. Her hood covered most of her face but her drooping shaped lips could be seen from under the shadow her hood cast.

For the first time in his 25th year of living, the Viking was surprised.

He was no fool, he noted the bow and quiver on the woman's back, and undoubtedly it was her arrows that had saved him and his men from their demise earlier that day, which would mean the woman had saved him and his men. A woman. He was beside himself, his mouth hung in shock and his eyes had yet to become smaller. A woman had saved a group of Vikings. Wild, vicious, kill-hungry Vikings.

"You're a woman." If he had not been made a fool of already, he sure was one now.

She said nothing to his statement, she didn't know what to say. She'd expected the first thing from his lips to be a thank you, as it was in order. She had saved him after all. But no, she should've known better, the first thing he would be made aware of was the fact that she was a woman. She was livid.

She could have let him die in that field, him and the rest of his stinking Viking men. But no, she didn't. She decided to save them, she decided that their lives were worth more than just being wasted away and put to end right then and there, she helped them. And what does she get form it? Nothing, nothing but prejudice and judgment.

She scoffed and turned around, making her way to leave before she really lost it. "Wait!" The man stood up slowly with the help of his companions, "I- I apologize, I did not mean to offend you." She turned her head to the side ever so slightly as an indication to him that she was still listening. "I wish to thank you. You save my life. Please come back with us to my father's village, we have food and warmth, we can give you new clothes."

Her eyes went wide. First he insults her by his surprise at her ability to have saved them simply because she was a woman, now he mocks her clothes? Quickly, the Viking realized his mistake and made to correct himself. He apologized yet again and told her she did not need new clothes, as she was perfect as she was. Then he corrected himself again and apologized once more as he did not mean for it to sound so suggestive, and after a lot of insisting she had agreed to follow him back to his father's village.

Freeing himself from his companion's grasp he took a slow step forward and extended his hand towards her, "My name is Eric son of Jarl Ulfrik." He introduced himself, she grasped his hand and gave it a single firm shake. "In my common tongue I am known as Satsugai sa reta hito no sentaku-sha, you may call me Cho."

 **Scandinavia, Sweden 929AD**

She patrolled the gardens, as she often did at night, with the moon and stars above her. It had been so many moons passed since she had found Eric and his men in the field that day, so many time passed since he had brought her to his father, and since then she had stayed with them. The Jarl was greatly pleased upon his son's arrival, having considered his only son dead as his absence was longer than expected, and he welcomed him with great happiness.

Nothing but confusion ran in the king's eyes as he looked at the woman his son had brought with him, clad in strange robes and colors he had never seen before, and with eyes an unfamiliar shape, yet their color similar to the jewels he possessed as gifts from distant lands; one the color of obsidian and the other greyer than any storm he had seen pass.

He welcomed her with the warmth of an old friend, and accepted her two years later as an adopted daughter, tradition be damned. She had saved his son's life and the lives of many of his men. He knew no one else worthier than her to be called the Jarl's daughter.

"You always stroll through my gardens when your mind wonders." An accusing voice ran through the silent night, she turned her head and came to face the woman who had cared for her in the last four years. She gave Astrid a soft smile and reached her arms out to embrace the woman, "I have nothing but adoration running through my mind, your garden looks beautiful." She had hoped to divert the conversation topic, but Astrid new her daughter better. She pulled the young woman to the seating area near a small pond and brought her hands to her lap.

"What troubles you?"

Cho was hesitant to answer, how could she give the true reason to the woman before her? To the woman who had taken her in, a complete stranger, and raised her as one of her own children without any complaint? How could she tell this woman she wished to leave from the home they had built for her?

Astrid saw her eyes as they changed colors, they flashed all the colors of the rainbow, indicating that she was battling with her emotions. Over the years Astrid had come to know the young woman before her very well, and she had noticed things she was sure Cho didn't even know about herself.

"You wish to leave?"

Cho's head snapped to the woman next to her, shock in her eyes, then guilt.

Astrid hummed and patted their hands together. She looked to the sky as Cho's eyes never left the soil beneath them. "The stars always seem to shine brightest when you are with them." Slowly, Cho lifted her head to the stars, "My mother would tell me that the stars were a replica of the souls in this world. If a star fell; a soul was coming to us, and if it shined bright the star was longing for something; it shined as bright as a beacon, so that whoever it is they were missing could find their way back home."

Cho listened intently to the words she spoke, never taking a single word for granted, "And when a soul no longer exists, what then?" Astrid did nothing but smile.

They sat outside until the sun begun to peak from the mountain side and they watched slowly as the sky lit up. The morning felt fresh, as it did with every new dawn that had risen. Cho thought about all they talked about that night, it was true; she had to leave, she missed her father and she was sure he had missed her as well. She felt him in the woods when she hunted with Eric, she heard him in the back of her mind when she fell asleep. She missed him greatly.

"When will you leave?" She helped Astrid from the seat they had been on the entire night and walked with her to her bedchambers, "Tonight, after the feast." They stopped in front of the wooden door and Astrid took her in her arms for one final time that day, "If I do not see you before then, know that it was the greatest honor I could have been given to take care of a child as beautiful as you. I love you my daughter." "And I you, mother."

 **Dusk**

Cho sat from her seat on one of the many benches laid before the Jarl and his Queen and ran her hand across her brother's shoulders, stealing his attention from the conversation he was in. "Won't you walk with your sister, my brother?" They bowed their heads to their parents as they left, Cho glanced a last time at the woman she loved dearly and left through the main door.

"Where are we going?" Eric ran behind her as she sped through the woods towards her favorite resting place; the lake.

Quickly, Eric noticed the trail they began to take and smiled widely at her before overtaking her. When she had reached the lake he was half way from removing his clothes, leaving his under garments on, he jumped into the lake before her and screamed delightedly as he splashed around in it.

Laughing at him she took off her clothes, leaving her undergarments on, and jumped in as well. She stayed under the water for a minute, relishing in the way the water accepted her body and moved around her, relaxing her muscles. She was pulled to the surface by a hand on her arm, she pushed her hair back when resurfacing and faced the gleaming face of her brother.

She smiled at him sadly and pushed his hair back, tucking it behind his ears as his hands enveloped around her waist. His head tilted in confusion when he saw her sullen expression and asked what was wrong, to which she only shook her head and placed it on his shoulder.

They swam about lazily most of the night, only leaving the lake when it became too cold for them. As they dried off Eric noticed the metal belt she wrapped around her waist, the same metal belt that held the ability to straighten out into a double edged katana at the flick of her wrist. He noticed the daggers she slipped them into their holders on her side, he grabbed her hand just as she put the last blade into it's sheathe.

He asked her what she was doing, and why it required her to carry so many weapons. When she neither answered nor made to look him in the eye realization dawned unto him. He quickly realized why she had been acting the way she had for the past days, the distant look in her beautiful eyes and the constant walks she had through the gardens at night.

"You're leaving." It wasn't a question. He hoped with everything in him that she corrected his accusation, just like she did when he caught her sneaking food from the kitchen late at night, just like she did when he accused her of hiding his favorite furs. He wanted with every ounce of his being for her to correct him this time, one last time.

When she nodded her head his shoulders slumped and his heart fell to his gut.

His throat tightened and he shut his eyes, refusing to acknowledge tears. He would not cry. He would not. He never cried. Not when she accidentally stabbed him with a butter knife, not when she kicked him out of her window he had climbed through after sneaking out, not when she was hurt in battle did he cry. He would not cry now. Not over a woman.

But she wasn't just a woman. She was his savior, his guardian, his advocate. She saved him from marriage conversations with their father, from murderers. She was his sister. No… it was more than that.

"It's not forever." She told him as she took a step closer, "I will come back." She promised. He wanted to pull her into his embrace, he felt her closeness and he wanted nothing more than to tell her okay, I'll wait for your return. Please return to us. Please return to me.

But his throat was constricted, and her warmth left him.

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 **Ahem.** So yes, I wanted to re-write my story. I didn't necessarily like how I had planned it out, in the sense that I hadn't really planned it out, at all. It's very hard to write, for me at least, and I will probably always feel like my work isn't as good as it could be if I really worked hard on it. But I will continue to criticize myself as a means of getting better. Please continue to support me as I learn more about writing, and please give any criticism you may have. Thank you.


	2. Chapter One Tastes like Home

**|| Chapter One || Tastes like Home. ||**

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 **Some days I wish I could go back in life.**

 **Not to change anything, but to feel a few things twice.**

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 **|| France, 144AD ||**

 **Blue** eyes, harsh eyes, hungry eyes; ancient eyes. Dying eyes.

In the winter days of her 5th year she had met with Death, that is, the embodiment of him. A boy looking no younger than his 16th age stood before her with her mother's blood dripping from his mouth, and her father's arm in one hand. He made to snatch her as well, but the tingling sensation in his hand caught him before he could; his gaze fell to the arm in his right hand, then to the specks of light floating from it to the ceiling, little by little the arm had begun to fade away. When he turned to the bodies he had drained moment prior, they too were gone.

When the moment passed he looked to the girl before him, the tiny girl whose eyes held an unmeasurable amount of sadness, he felt it too, it was as though her emotions leaked from every pore on her skin and every opening it could come from, her eyes leaked it, her heart thumped with it, pumping blood into her body that, as well, was filled with grief. He made to grab her, to drain her, for if she was filled with the same delectable taste as the humans he had before; he would not leave her untouched; but he met with the ground before he could harm her.

Black goo leaked; from his eyes, his ears, his nose and his mouth. He was caught in an uncontrollable coughing fit as he grabbed at his throat, willing his body to eject the blood he had taken in, but it was no use, he had consumed too much of it to go back now. The dark blood surged through his veins, he felt as it ran through his body and ignite his insides on fire with every moment passed, he felt tortured.

The little girl stared at him, knowing nothing but of the way to cure him. Her blood, after all, was the reason he had succumb to this state. This was the punishment of those who drunk her blood without consent; for them was the True Death.

She made to walk away from the boy, she had no business getting involved with things she shouldn't be. Her parents were dead, well, the man and woman she had called her parents were dead, she would have to leave now, and if this boy had found her surely it wasn't safe anymore. She would travel east, far, far away from here and never look back until it was safe. She'd have to travel by day-

Her movements were halted when she heard his pained cry, don't look back, don't look back, and don't look back. She cursed herself when she looked to him again. His shirt was discarded in his attempt to will the pain away, but it didn't work. From this angle she was given a clear view of his skin, she noticed the tribal tattoos on his chest and shoulders and the one on his back as well, along with a … a branding? On his shoulder?

From the stories she was told and books she had read she could clearly deduct he was a vampire, a child of the moon, yet he was branded a slave? He didn't look more than the age of 16, yet his aura showed someone who had walked this earth for so many more years. Had he been turned when he was younger? Even so, what pain had he endured before that? Her heart ached at the image of him, a boy not much older than herself, being subjected to the harsh ways of this cursed world.

She looked at him again, this time not seeing a killer but a boy, a boy alone and hurt in the world. She shut her eyes and turned away, no! She couldn't save him. She would not! How many had he hurt before this night, and how many would he hurt after should he survive?

She made to walk again, but her morals latched onto her, pulling her to the dying boy as if she was chained by them. How could she help a murderer? How could she help this monster?

Then again, would she not be considered a monster herself for not saving him? Especially when she was truly the only one who could?

The smell of fresh blood drifted into the air, the aroma intoxicated his senses, and it overlapped the flow of oxygen and replaced it with the smell of nirvana. Not in his 197 years of roaming this earth had he encountered such a euphoric smell. His fangs snapped from his gums in a _click_ , yet he hissed as a hand lay on his shoulder and pushed him to the ground.

The little girl sat on her knees next to him and held her right palm in her left hand, "Just don't," her voice sounded, "Don't fight it." He could barely muster a word before her hand slammed down to his mouth and her blood ran across his tongue and down his throat.

He focused on the smoothness of her blood. It tasted like… it tasted like sweet long-grass and the sunrise… it tasted like Gaul before the Roman's attacked. As he drank her blood the memories of him in his village resurfaced, memories he believed was lost so long ago, he felt the sun soaked water on his skin again and the taste of his favorite meals, the ones his mother made for him.

His eyes opened slowly when she pulled her hand from his mouth, his head now on her small lap and his eyes a held a glaze over them. He held on so hopelessly to the feeling that had overcome him while he drank from her blood. "What are you?" His voice was a whisper, surprisingly even himself, a soft tone that carried through the air and breeze. He hummed slightly when small hands untangled his messy black hair, small fingers pressing against his scalp in a soothing manner, his shoulder relaxed deeper into her as his eyes fell closed against his will. "Rest now; retrieve your strength, Godric." Blue eyes, sad eyes, peaceful eyes; ancient eyes. Eyes that would see love again.

 **|| Louisiana, Shreveport, 2008 ||**

Shrieks of pain filled the span of Fangtasia on a Wednesday night at 12:06am.

The sound bounded from the walls and ran through the skin of every person in the room; it went cold as the pain could literally be felt in the air, leaking from the injured woman's body in rivers like a broken dam. The sound became so unbearably excruciating that one of the participants excused herself completely from the room, this being a woman by the name of Pamela Swynford de Beufort; progeny to the Sheriff of this particular area.

"She's poisoned alright," grumbled the Goblin. For the Doctor, concentrating was becoming exceedingly difficult as the woman's cries became louder. Her head was spinning in every direction from the mass overload of emotion she received from the lady, the experience only ever becoming worse as she made skin-to-skin contact with her patient.

"Can you help her?" A voice demanded answers.

"Back off Viking, I'm trying."

"Well try _harder_."

Doctor Ludwig ignored the vampire's demands as she swirled the vile of blood in her hands, she noted as the blood turned from a brilliant white to black goo within seconds of being extracted from the woman's body, then moments later to a sickening green. Taking a syringe from her black bag she injected it into the woman's neck while holding her breath. She waited for seconds after the woman's body stopped thrashing around, then minutes, then… nothing.

Her body was stilled, her breathing barely noticeable to the human eyes, yet Eric caught it. He saw the slight rise and fall, she wasn't dead. He let out a breath, she wasn't dead. His resolved crumbled when she shot from the position she had been in and ejected white substance form her mouth to the floor.

Eric looked at the liquid puddle, it was a mixed color of green and white, some clumps that resembled rock salt to him and… gold?

"She'll be alright now, Mr. Northman. Worry not. I'll be expecting my payment at the end of the day." Eric barely looked at the Goblin as she made her way back, he barely noticed as the Goblin cast a worried glance to the woman's direction as well. She shook her head and left, there was nothing else in the power she possessed that she could do.

When she came to, the young woman found herself laid out on a black leather couch against the wall in an office. She surveyed her surroundings and took note of the many files and papers on a desk, and upon further inspection found she was in area 5, Shreveport Louisiana. She groaned lightly to herself, realization just how far from comfort she really was.

She ran her hands down her person and was relived to find her katana tightly wrapped through the loops of her shorts. She thanked Valhalla when she realized she wasn't completely defenseless.

From the other side of the door, wild booming was heard, shouts of joy and the drumming of music. Where exactly was she?

She made to go over the files again to find any information she could, but was stopped abruptly when the door opened. A tall blonde woman stood in the doorway, hands on her hips and a perfectly maintained eyebrow rose. "You're finally awake," Her voice drawled, it was etched with boredom, yet Cho found through her aura the slightest hint of curiosity and… arousal.

She watched the woman as her eyes raked from her own bare feet, up her legs and over her hips, to the span of her stomach and cleavage, then finally resting on her own eyes. Pam's blue eyes switched from the woman's green eye then to her grey one, back and forth, back and forth, like she was searching for something.

"Eric's been waiting for you."

"Eric?" The moment his name left her lips, a gust of air was felt through the room, and a tall Viking stood before her in all his vampire glory.

Eric Northman had changed quite a bit since she had seen him last, granted that was well over 1,079 years ago. He was taller now, not much, but still taller. His blonde hair rested on his shoulders, straight and shimmering under the lighting and his body was broader, more defined by muscle.

What caught her most was his eyes, unblinking, hard, cold eyes. Was this the same man she was introduced to so many years ago? How could it be? The man she had met was… lighter, full of the earth and its beauty. He found love in swords and nights in the barn, with the seaside and his men. A man without a worry to his name. Yet why did the man before her now hold the pain of the world in his eyes? And why was he looking at her like that?

He stepped forward; frightened as she was she held her ground, firmly planting her feet to the concrete below her. He walked to her slowly, giving her every possible escape he allowed himself to give if she wanted to run from him, but she didn't. She stayed. She stayed when he was so close to her he could feel the heat from her body, smell the euphoric aroma that encased her, the same one she tried so hard to conceal. She stayed as he trailed his finger across her cheek, her jaw, over her bottom lip.

Her eyes shut slowly as he traced her face, taking in every feature of her as the memories of her began to slowly return to him. She stayed still as he whispered softly, so softly because he was afraid she would turn from him and run, "You're as beautiful as the day you left me." Pink eyes shot open to meet with his. Blue eyes, sorrowful eyes, peaceful eyes.


End file.
